The Long and Winding Road
by Moontyger
Summary: Dick Grayson had always had a good sense of timing. But when it came to him and Barbara, somehow the timing was always wrong.


The trapeze was all about trust: that's what he'd always said. Trust, because you had to be certain your partner would catch you when you jumped. Trust that was more than mere belief; you had to _know_ that they wouldn't let you fall.

But it was about more than that. It was also about timing. If you let go at the wrong time, it didn't matter how dependable your partner was. You'd fall anyway. You had to be able to judge the timing, know when to jump and when to wait.

Dick Grayson had always had a good sense of timing. But when it came to him and Barbara, somehow the timing was always wrong.

* * *

When Dick promised he'd come back to Barbara, he thought it would be the easiest promise in the world to keep. He'd go on vacation with Bruce and Tim, find himself, come back and tell her to put the ring he'd given her back on her finger and to start thinking about dates.

He should have known better. Things with him and Babs were a lot of things, but 'easy' wasn't one of them.

Bruce's idea of a vacation turned out to be a lot more about rediscovering himself as Batman and a lot less about leisurely family time activities. Dick healed physically while on the trip, but anything else? He wasn't so sure.

He wasn't certain he was ready to be Nightwing again, much less ready to be anyone's husband. But he knew – well, he imagined – that Barbara would be waiting for him, expecting him to say he was. He knew she wouldn't say it, would _never_ say it if he didn't raise the subject. She'd left the ball in his court and she'd leave it lying there for as long as she had to. But he imagined the hope in her eyes and the hurt when he ignored it and he couldn't face it.

Instead of going home to Gotham, he moved to New York. Took up with a girl who looked like Babs, but was almost her polar opposite in all other ways: Babs as she might have been if she were playboy Bruce Wayne's daughter and if her talents had lain in entirely other directions.

* * *

And then, just when he was getting his feet under him, Bruce died.

Dick thought he was prepared. He'd known – they'd all known – just how dangerous Batman's mission was. However infallible Bruce appeared, he was only human. One day, he'd make the wrong mistake and pay the price.

It wasn't the first father he'd lost.

But this time was different. Last time, he'd had Bruce to lean on, to be the adult who took care of everything. Now? He was the oldest of Bruce's children, the heir apparent. Now _he_ had to be the adult.

He'd thought he was ready for that, too. He'd led how many teams now? Not to mention moving out on his own and choosing his own city to protect. Dick knew how to handle responsibility.

But not like this. His family and his city – the city he'd left, but still couldn't help mentally claiming as his own – were falling apart around him. Someone had to step up and make things right.

It would have been so easy then. Barbara was there, supporting him just as she'd always done. And he needed that support – needed her. One of those times when he was alone, her voice in his ear the only thing that seemed real, he could have said it. At least, it _should_ have been easy.

But he kept silent. The very intensity of his need told him that the timing was still all wrong. He still loved her; that hadn't changed. But if he wanted to be with her, it needed to be because he wanted _her_, not because he needed someone - anyone - to rely on.

* * *

Once he put on the cowl, he gave up the whole idea.

There was a reason Bruce had dated often, but never married. Being Nightwing was one thing; there'd always been room for him to be Dick as well when that was his name. But Batman? No. If he was going to be Batman, he had to go all the way. He wouldn't be the same Batman as Bruce; no one could be. But he couldn't be Dick either - the cowl crowded everything else out.

He did his best to push almost everyone away. He kept things professional, even between him and Barbara.

There was only one time that he almost slipped.

He and Barbara were in the Batcave, arguing. That wasn't unusual – they argued a lot these days. This particular time, it was about Stephanie, but that hardly mattered. She was just another excuse.

For awhile, Stephanie and Damian had been listening, but they'd gotten tired of waiting and left. It was just him and Babs, all alone in the dimly lit cave.

He didn't even mean to do it. When Dick caught himself, his hand was already buried in her hair; his lips inches from hers.

It would have been so easy to close that distance. Simple, easy, _right_.

But he didn't. He pulled back, mumbled an apology. Turned his back to her and said nothing at all, the way Bruce might have done.

Dick offered her no explanation. How could he? He wasn't sure he could explain it himself.

* * *

And then? Then he almost lost her. He wasn't on Tamaran; he had no excuse this time. He'd just been too late.

When he showed up at the door of her hospital room, the flowers that felt like such a meaningless gesture in his hands, he nearly ran into her father. Dick forced a smile and a nod; he'd never been sure that Commissioner Gordon really approved of him.

"How is she?"

He'd kept his voice down, but Barbara had hearing like a hawk.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Jim Gordon shook his head, then tilted it in the direction of the bed with an indulgent smile. "Go on. I'm old enough to know when I'm not welcome."

Dick approached slowly, the gleaming tiles between the door and her bed seeming to stretch out nightmarishly, like some funhouse image. Was this what it would have been like if he'd been here the first time, after she'd been shot?

He sat next to the bed, flowers held awkwardly in his lap, and let himself really look at Barbara for the first time.

She was pale, but given the blood loss, that was only to be expected. Otherwise, she looked no different, not at all like someone who'd nearly been murdered by her adoptive brother less than a day ago.

"Do I look that bad?"

"No. You look great."

"Now I know you're lying." She laughed in that self-deprecating way she sometimes had, but Dick meant every word.

He looked at her lying there and wondered if she even still had the ring he'd given her. Did she still wear it on its chain? Or had she given up on him, as she had every right to do?

He looked; he wondered. He almost asked. But he looked at the hospital bed and knew she'd hate it.

No, it couldn't be like this either. Not when she was weak and might feel he'd asked out of pity.

So he forgot about it. Instead, he sat there and they chatted like the old friends they were, talking around the elephants in the room just as they'd always done.

* * *

The trapeze was all about timing, but knowing when the timing was wrong wasn't enough. You had to also know when it was _right_ - when to let go and fling yourself out into space. When it was time to fly.

Dick positioned Barbara's chair on the edge of the rooftop, then sat beside her, legs dangling. He looked out at the view and smiled, then directed that smile at her.

"Care to join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He picked her up and sat her next to him, one arm still around her waist to catch her if she slipped. It was more dangerous for her to sit like this now, but he knew she loved it. Together, they sat on the edge and stared out at the sun rising over the city.

"We do good work," he said at last, when the silence had stretched just a little too long.

"He'll get out again." The bitterness in her voice didn't surprise him. How could anyone blame her for feeling bitter when it came to the Joker?

Barbara sighed a little, but when she spoke again, her tone had changed. "But not for awhile. You're right – we do good work."

Dick's arm tightened around her, but he didn't reply. At least, not to what she'd said. "Do you remember the last time we sat here like this?"

He didn't have to turn his head to know exactly what kind of look she was giving him. Of course she remembered. Barbara never forgot anything.

"That was a long time ago."

"It was. But some things don't change."

Dick released her waist and turned to face her, moving as easily on the rooftop edge as if he'd been born up here. Why not? He practically had.

He'd thought he'd be afraid. He'd expected to feel the way he had the last time he was up here with her, like the overeager teenager he no longer was, complete with sweaty palms and hammering heart. But he looked at her face, awash in pink light as dawn broke over Gotham, and he felt no fear at all.

"I made you a promise awhile ago. I'm sure you remember it. It's taken a lot longer than I expected, but I'd like to keep that promise now." Dick hesitated, only now feeling doubt. "That is, if you're still willing?"

Barbara smiled as bright as the sun just now peeking over the nearby buildings. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
